


Deus Ex Machina

by zimriya



Series: Kitten Fics [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Transformation, F/M, Fluff, Kittens, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, does this make up for the angstfest in Let Me Count the Ways?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac has a one night stand with a guy who claims to be a warlock, and when Enjolras and Grantaire wake up the next morning, they find that they’ve both been turned into kittens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deus Ex Machina

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time I said to myself (and then like three people on skype) "I should write a fic where Enjolras and Grantaire get turned into kittens." No one told me no.
> 
> As reference, I imagine Enjorlas to be a red and silver [Turkish Angora](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oPHLMPMjO_U/T6eTV1HrvqI/AAAAAAAAAmE/6vDUCCVVz_Y/s1600/jane-burton-red-silver-turkish-angora-cat-with-sandy-lop-rabbit.jpg) (I'm not sure why there is a rabbit in that photo but it is adorable) and Grantaire to be a [York Chocolate Cat](http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LlfXWxcpJyU/S8PzX-1nUzI/AAAAAAAAddM/3fh1SoWKmtI/s400/york+chocolate+cat+1.JPG). 
> 
> Betaed by the lovely [decourfeynated](http://decourfeynated.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. All other mistakes are my own.

**Deus Ex Machina**

\--

The first thing Enjolras does when he wakes up is sneeze. There is something that feels feathery and soft resting just underneath his nose, and he very quickly tries to remember if he stupidly let Courfeyrac crash on his couch last night. He has no idea, but last time Courfeyrac had tried the whipped-cream-in-hand prank, Enjolras’ retaliation had been enough to make even Grantaire applaud when he entered a room. So Enjolras doesn’t even open his eyes.

“Courfeyrac,” he deadpans. Or rather, tries to deadpan, because what comes out sounds rather more like a meow then words.

Enjolras cracks open an eye.

The thing tickling his nose, as it turns out, is not a feather. It is his tail.

“That’s odd,” he meow-says, quietly, to himself, and then passes out.

\--

Grantaire wakes up and everything is cold. He doesn’t much feel like opening his eyes, and his head feels fuzzy, but there’s no headache to suggest heavy drinking last night. He can’t feel the usual bundle of blankets down at the foot of the bed, but he doesn’t care. It’s not that much trouble to blink open his eyes and stumble off the bed. The fall feels a bit longer than he remembers, and everything in the room seems a bit bigger than he remembers, but mostly he’s sleepwalking. And cold. So, so, _very_ cold _._

He walks a few more steps--crawling, possibly? (God forbid Courfeyrac be in the apartment with a camera.)--before he finds a particularly warm spot on the floor and curls into a ball to sleep.

In hindsight, that should have been odd; Grantaire is many things, but flexible enough to manage a ball is not one of them. But then, he is very cold, and very sleepy, and it is so very easy to simply close his eyes and go back to sleep.

\--

When he wakes up, Enjolras finds himself still in his bed. Nothing appears to be tickling his nose. Maybe it was a dream?

He tentatively begins to sit up from what he will never admit was a dead faint, and ends up tripping across his mattress instead. His mattress is much bigger than it was last night. Also, he still has a tail. He can feel it twitching back and forth behind him as he lies, sprawled out across the bed with both back feet caught in the sheets. He has claws now.

He is, apparently, still a cat. If he thinks about that for long enough, he’ll probably pass out again, but at this point, that’d actually be nice. Because then he wouldn’t have to deal with this. Whatever this is.

Enjolras extracts his feet from the sheets and manages to settle into something of a seated position.  His tail, sadly, will not stop lashing, and the more he thinks about it the worse it gets.

There is really only one person he can blame, and so he gnashes his teeth together and swishes his tail for the next five minutes trying desperately to remember who Courfeyrac went home with last night.

\--

Grantaire gets up, yawns, stretches, and sighs. He is on the floor. Again. That should really be worrying, but he can’t really be bothered. It’s warm where he is, and every inch of him feels like it is oozing endorphins. He yawns again, and looks down.

Oh.

So he’s a cat.

A tiny, dark brown, slightly furrier and glossier than he’d expected cat, but a cat. A baby cat, apparently, since when he looks up his door looks enormous. That’s--really he should be worried but he can’t be entirely bothered.

“Huh,” he says, experimentally. It comes out in an odd meowing noise that goes in his ears and translates in his brain. That’s fascinating, actually. When his stomach isn’t attempting to crawl its way out of his newfound tiny body, he’ll think about it. Now, he figures it’s probably a good idea to go find someone to feed him. Enjolras is his best bet, since his and Combeferre’s apartment is both within human-walking-distance and the fridge is stocked to the point of obscenity. Really it makes no sense, since neither Combeferre nor Enjolras are big eaters, but Grantaire is not objecting. There is nothing quite like the look on Enjolras’ face when Grantaire cooks him dinner. It’s always an odd mix of gratitude and displeasure; because the meal is good, but the invasion of home, is not.

He finds it absurdly easy to break out of his apartment, and even more so to go skidding down the death trap that are his stairs. But he’s a cat, now, so he lands on all four feet.

“That could be useful,” he says to himself. No one can understands him, anyway, so he figures why not. “Once I’ve eaten I’m going to make use of that.”

He pauses once to look at himself in a puddle of water. He’s brown, slightly long haired, with almond shaped green eyes and an air of innocence that Grantaire is going to milk to its fullest, and tiny. Overall, it could be worse, so Grantaire spends most of the walk to Enjolras’ apartment with a spring in his step.

(He stops, briefly, to engage in a battle with a pair of pigeons, but really no one needs to know about that.)

\--

“I am a cat,” says Enjolras. It comes out a meow. “Fuck,” he continues. “Fuck -- fucking -- fuck.” He can’t seem to stop talking, and in turn he can’t seem to stop hearing his voice come out in weird kitten meowing. This is doing nothing to help his nerves. “What did -- what did I _do_ last night?”

He’d moved off the bed a few minutes ago and is now pacing somewhat frantically around his living room, tail still lashing. Combeferre is nowhere to be seen, which would be worrying, but be it that Enjolras is now a cat--kitten, his treacherous brain points out--he finds he doesn’t mind all that much.

“Okay,” he says, and winces at the odd mix of kitten and human that feeds back into his brain. “I’m now a cat-- _kitten_ ,” he concedes. His tail seems to have calmed somewhat, and he lets out a long sigh. “This is okay.” It isn’t, but he’s not thinking about that at all. Not at all. Not at-- _fuck_. His tail’s resumed its frantic back and forth movement and the sitting still thing is not working.

Enjolras gets up, glowers at his couch, and leaps up onto the armrest. This helps, since his tail is now partially occupied in helping him keep balance. “Okay,” he reiterates. “I’m now a kitten. This is obviously Courfeyrac’s fault.”

“Obviously,” says a voice.

“Right,” agrees Enjolras. “Now how the hell do I find him?”

“Well,” says the voice. “You could probably break out of your apartment and go find him?”

“That’s stupid,” says Enjolras. He debates the distance from his couch to the table in the middle of the room

“Not actually,” says the voice. “I mean, I broke in here.”

Enjolras is only half listening, because most of his attention is focused on jumping onto the table. Landing is easy; his tail goes up for balance and he’s much lighter now. It’s almost too easy, actually, which is probably why as soon as he goes to take a step both of his front paws decide to go slip-sliding across the surface--he is never wiping down his tables obsessively ever again -- and he goes over the side of the table.

But with dignity.

“Wow,” says the voice. Enjolras realizes, suddenly, that the voice is coming out cat but coming in human, and also it sounds remarkably like Grantaire. “And I thought I was a failure of a kitten.”

Enjolras untangles himself from a pile of limbs and tail to glare at the owner of the voice. The owner of the voice, is another kitten--brown, with large green eyes, and the smuggest expression on its face. Enjolras goes from awkwardly sitting to flinging himself across the entire room in about five seconds.

“There is a cat in my house,” he says. It comes out more of a yowl. A yowl that instead of being terrifying, sounds high pitched and actually somewhat cute.

“Yes,” says the other kitten. “But see, that cat is you.”

“And you!” shrieks Enjolras. He thinks every hair is standing up on his back, but he can’t seem to get it to stop. His heart is going about a hundred miles a minute and every single sense feels amplified.

“You look ridiculous, Apollo,” says the other kitten. “What are you even doing?”

Enjolras blinks. “Grantaire?” he tries, tentative.

“Yes,” says the other kitten. “Was that not obvious--oh--”

Enjolras can’t really explain why, but he starts out standing as far away from Grantaire as possible and ends up trying to be as close to him as possible. He winds around him, pressing his head against Grantaire’s and closing his eyes. His chest appears to be making an odd rumbling noise, and he pauses. “What is that?” he asks, still circling.

“Erm,” says Grantaire. His voice sounds muffled--possibly because Enjolras’ hasn’t figured out how to get his body to stop rubbing up against him, but mostly because Enjolras’ is tail is covering his mouth. “I think--I think you’re purring?”

There is a short pause.

“What?” says Enjolras.

“Purring?” says Grantaire.

Enjolras very slowly untangles himself from Grantaire and backs away. “We are never to speak of this again,” he says, softly, not meeting Grantaire’s eyes. His tail seems to want to raise up as high as possible, and he lets it. “Never. Again.”

“Um,” says Grantaire from over his shoulder. “Okay?”

“Good,” says Enjolras. He heads over to his fridge and glares at it. “Now help me get this open; I’m starving, and I know Combeferre bought tuna last week.”

Which is why when Combeferre opens the door a few minutes later, it’s to find the two of them arguing furiously with each other while Enjolras stands atop Grantaire in an attempt to reach the door-handle to the fridge. He very quickly closes the door.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras is in the middle of hissing at Grantaire. “Stop moving.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” Grantaire snaps back. “If you’d stop trying to claw my back off--”

“Well if you’d stop moving, I wouldn’t feel like I was about to fall and have to use my claws--”

“Oh, ha ha,” says Grantaire. “Why don’t you just admit that you have absolutely no control over any of your feline qualities--”

“I will scratch your eyes out,” says Enjolras tail lashing back and forth.

They go wobbling to one side for a moment.

“Oh my god, _stop_ doing that,” says Grantaire shortly. “We’re going to over balance, you idiot--”

“I’m not doing it on purpose!”

“So you admit that you have no control--”

“I didn’t say that!” snarls Enjolras, ears pressing back against his head in addition to the tail. “I didn’t--” He breaks off with a small gasp. “Grantaire?” he says, slowly. “What are you doing.”

“Saving us?” says Grantaire around Enjolras’ tail. “If you keep doing that we’re going to go over and it’s not going to be pretty.”

“Grantaire,” says Enjolras. “My tail is in your mouth.”

“Yes,” agrees Grantaire. “And it tastes awful-- _ow_.”

Enjolras retracts his back claws and widens his eyes. “Woops,” he says.

“ _You’re_ awful,” says Grantaire. “Now come on, you’ve almost got it--”

The apartment door opens again. Combeferre stares back at Enjolras and Grantaire for a long, long moment. Then, he pushes open the door and steps in. He’s wearing clothes that are probably from yesterday, and his eyes are very, very wide.

“What are you waiting for open the door,” says Courfeyrac, from behind him. He pushes past Combeferre into the house and, upon seeing them, stops. “When did you get cats?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” says Combeferre, faintly. “I don’t have cats.”

He sounds concerned, but Enjolras can’t be bothered with that. All of his attention is instead fixed on Courfeyrac.

“ _You_ ,” he snarls. “ _This is your fault_.”

\--

Enjolras, for lack of a better word, launches himself at Courfeyrac. He’s quick, probably aided by the fact that he uses Grantaire as something of a springboard, and Courfeyrac really has no time to do more than go wide-eyed before Enjolras is landing on his head.

Grantaire stumbles up from where he’s fallen and blinks his eyes back at them.

“Oh god, not the face!” Courfeyrac is shrieking. He gets his arms up to fight with Enjolras, who Grantaire is pretty sure isn’t actually doing anything other than trying to hold on.

“Grantaire,” he cries in a half-meow half-yowl. “Help!”

Grantaire settles back on his haunches to watch. “I don’t know what you want me to do,” he says. Enjolras as a kitten is a wonderful mix of soft fur and terror--he’s a lovely swirl of off white and orange with large, almond shaped, blue eyes and the most misleading look of innocence on his face. “I’m sure if you hold still long enough Courfeyrac will realize you’re not actually about to eat his face off?”

“That’s not helpful!” screeches Enjolras. Courfeyrac swipes at him and he makes a horrible mewling noise as he goes sliding off of his head, clawing the whole way, and onto his chest.

He manages to stop falling there, because eve Courfeyrac is not oblivious to those blue eyes. Their friend lets his hands fall down around Enjolras’ body, cradling him, and the two of them stare at each other.

“Enjolras?” says Courfeyrac, slowly. He brings up a hand to rub at the back of one of Enjolras’ too big, orange ears. The resulting rumbling purr very definitely does not make Grantaire jealous.

“Okay, just hold him like that,” says Combeferre. He hasn’t taken his face out of his hand for most of the conversation. “I’m getting a first aid kit. And then we are calling Joly, because rabies.”

“I don’t think he has rabies,” says Courfeyrac, slowly. “Right, Enjolras?”

Enjolras keeps purring. “Grantaire,” he says through his teeth out the side of his mouth. “Do something.”

Grantaire gets to his feet and approaches Combeferre. “What do you want me to do?”

He winds around Combeferre’s legs a few times until the man sighs, and reaches down to pick him up. “Hello,” he says. “And what are you?” Several horribly, undignified moments later, he professes Grantaire male and moves to set him down.

Grantaire is very happy that Enjolras is too busy angrily purring in Courfeyrac’s arms to do anything. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t do that,” he tells Combeferre, reaching out with a paw to tap him on the face. Combeferre’s eyes very briefly go incredibly soft, and Grantaire does an inward fist pump because he was right about Combeferre being a secret softie. He very gently crawls his way free of Combeferre’s hands and up his arm to settle at the junction between his shoulder and neck.

“That looks comfortable,” points out Enjolras from his own place in Courfeyrac’s arms. He’s stopped clinging to the man quite so much, and has instead settled into something of a ball across Courfeyrac’s chest.

Grantaire looks at him and does the cat equivalent of raising his eyebrows.

“I mean--” says Enjolras. He turns his head to stare at Courfeyrac again and Grantaire laughs the entire way into the bathroom on Combeferre’s shoulders.

“Aw,” says Courfeyrac. “Look at him! He’s adorable as a cat, I think we should keep him!”

Combeferre pokes his head out of the bathroom. “Why do you keep calling him Enjolras?” he says

Courfeyrac snorts. “What,” he says. He strokes one hand along Enjolras’ back and sets him down on the ground. “You can’t tell it’s him? Come on, Combeferre. What sort of friend are you?”

Enjolras seems to have gotten the hang of the tail thing somewhat, because he is the very epitome of calm as he approaches Combeferre to sit at his feet. “The first aid kit isn’t in that drawer,” he tells Combeferre, but of course it comes out a mew. “Grantaire, tell him.”

“I love how you assume that I can somehow translate,” says Grantaire. But he leans in close to Combeferre’s ear and nips it, gently.

“Hey,” says Combeferre. He reaches up with a hand to pet Grantaire, who finds it surprisingly soothing.

“I understand why you keep purring everywhere,” he tells Enjolras, who gives him the cat equivalent of a scowl before stalking forward to leap up onto the bathroom sink.

He bats Combeferre’s hands aside and sits down in front of the right drawer. “This one,” he says.

Combeferre blinks. “Why would it be there?” he asks, rhetorically certainly.

Courfeyrac comes up behind him and grins, suddenly sheepish. “Oh yeah,” he says. He reaches out to pat Enjolras on the head, and Enjolras scratches at him. “So, um, possibly at the last rally Enjolras scraped up an arm --”

“What?” says Combeferre, voice going very soft.

“Yeah, what?” agrees Grantaire. He puffs himself up to his full size and glowers down at Enjolras.

Enjolras refuses to meet his eyes, but his ears are tipping downwards and backwards a little.

Grantaire is pretty sure his claws are leaving pinpricks of pain on Combeferre’s shoulders, but the man ignores them.

“The point is,” says Courfeyrac. “We put the first aid kit there last time because Enjolras was slightly loopy and I was panicking because I can’t sew clothes let alone _skin_ \--”

“What?” repeats Combeferre.

Grantaire meows an agreement and jumps down off of him to land next to Enjolras. He still won’t meet his eyes, but when Grantaire puts a paw on his back and sets about washing him vigorously he doesn’t really react.

“What are you doing?” he mutters.

“I have no idea,” says Grantaire. He licks behind Enjolras’ ear and Enjolras purrs. “But I don’t think I can stop?”

“Aw,” says Courfeyrac. “Who are you, then?” He goes to pick up Grantaire, and Combeferre sighs.

“Courfeyrac,” he says. “You’re bleeding.”

“Shh,” says Courfeyrac. He lifts Grantaire up in both palms to look at him. Grantaire stares back, and licks once at the scratches on his face. Courfeyrac’s nose scrunches up, and he smiles. “R,” he says. “Hello.”

“How the hell is he doing that?” says Enjolras, from his place atop the sink. “It’s uncanny.”

“Don’t know,” says Grantaire. “Don’t care.” He gives Courfeyrac’s face a pat with one paw and then glances down until the man puts him on the ground. “I’m still hungry, though.”

“I bet they’re hungry,” says Courfeyrac. “Since there wasn’t much eating last night. Which--” Courfeyrac breaks off and winces. “I think I know what’s going on. I need to make a few calls.”

“So, basically, you’re saying it’s your fault that Enjolras and Grantaire are now baby cats,” says Combeferre. He pulls the first aid kit out of the cabinet and sighs. “Right?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” says Courfeyrac. He pulls open the fridge and grabs a can of tuna. “But the good news is that I know exactly why! And how to turn them back, hopefully.”

He puts the can on the floor and Grantaire is quick to head over to investigate. “I know you don’t particularly like fish,” he says to Enjolras, as he starts eating. “But it is delicious.”

Enjolras stares at him for a moment, before sighing dramatically, and flopping onto the counter. It would probably have more effect, Grantaire thinks, if he hadn’t misjudged and fallen into the sink instead.

“I know, I know,” says Grantaire while Courfeyrac outright laughs and Combeferre picks Enjolras with a smile. “Say nothing.” He watches as Enjolras settles into Combeferre’s arms and starts purring. “But food, yeah?”

Enjolras is silent, and yet he lets Combeferre carry him over to set him down next to Grantaire.

\--

Enjolras knows, of course, that he will have to find a way to convey to Combeferre and Courfeyrac what he’s trying to say, but mostly he just wants to eat the tuna. Fish might not have been his favorite food as a human, but as a cat, he really couldn't care less.

Grantaire sits next to him, having finished his own can, and grooms his whiskers. “You are the most adorable kitten I have ever seen,” he says.

Combeferre and Courfeyrac appear to be arguing quietly in a corner of the living room. They’d finished with the first aid kit, and Courfeyrac is now sporting a line of Neosporin down his face. Combeferre slaps a bandage on top of it with less care than usual.

Enjolras feels like he should probably care; he doesn’t, really. He’s way too hungry.

“It’s almost obscene,” Grantaire continues. “I think it’s your ears.” He reaches out with one paw to bat at Enjolras’ right ear, and Enjolras ducks his head.

“Shut up,” he says between bites. “You’re one to talk, what with those big, stupid, green eyes.”

There is a pause. To be fair, Enjolras is eating for most of it. But when he finishes his can and settles down to groom his paws, he finds Grantaire staring back at him.

“What?”

“You think I’m adorable?” says Grantaire, sounding hoarse. Enjolras wonders briefly what that translates to in the meowing noise that comes out of his mouth, before he realizes what he’d said. Meowed.

“Um,” he says.

“--I’m sorry you did _what_?” says Combeferre, loudly, interrupting their conversation.

“Listen, I thought it was just bedroom talk!” says Courfeyrac, in return. He at least attempts to hiss it, but Enjolras and Grantaire have cat hearing now.

“Convenient,” says Enjolras, to himself. He settles down to keep washing himself--because he can’t seem to ignore the way his fur feels sticky--and listens.

“Bedroom talk,” Combeferre snaps back. “You thought--bedroom talk! About matchmaking your best friends?”

Courfeyrac shrugs. “What?” he says, when Combeferre keeps staring at him. “I’ve had worse!”

Combeferre shakes his head at him. “Well obviously you need to call this man,” he hisses.

“What makes you think I even have his number?”

Combeferre reaches out and takes Courfeyrac’s hand and starts rolling up his sleeve.

“The fact that you know exactly where I ask people to drunkenly write their numbers on me is creepy,” says Courfeyrac.

Combeferre remains silent.

“That’s because you asked him to drunkenly write his number on you, Courfeyrac,” snaps Enjolras, because as a cat apparently he lacks a filter.

Grantaire looks like Christmas has come early. “I’m sorry, what?” he says. He comes over to sit next to Enjolras, right in his personal space. Enjolras lets him tuck his tail around both of them, and lets out a puff of air.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” he says.

Grantaire makes an obliging noise in the back of his throat, and sits there in silence for a bit. His sides are vibrating a little, and when Enjolras goes to lean into his side a little, it increases.

“Are you purring?”

“No,” says Grantaire. “Not at all.”

Enjolras twitches his tail, and butts his head against Grantaire’s. “Okay,” he says. “You keep telling yourself that.”

Courfeyrac has pulled out his cell phone to dial the number wrapping its way up his arm. “Alright, I’m ready, read it out for me --”

Combeferre takes the phone, enters the number, and hands the phone back to him. “Call,” he says.

Courfeyrac grins at him, and takes his phone. At which points the odd things start happening. Well, no odder than waking up a kitten, but Enjolras and Grantaire both get to their feet. The numbers on Courfeyrac’s arm disappear in a shimmer of golden sparks.

“So when you say a warlock,” says Combeferre, faintly.

“Going to have to say it was not a line,” agrees Courfeyrac. He puts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

Whoever is on the other line must say something amusing, because he laughs.

“Yeah, uh, about that.” Courfeyrac’s face goes slightly strained. “Do you mind telling me why two of my friends are currently kittens?”

There’s a beat.

“Well, okay, no, to be fair that’s kind of cool--really, all the way back to 16th Century France?” Courfeyrac shakes his head and Combeferre taps his foot. “I mean, that’s great but why did you--”

Enjolras shoots Grantaire a look. “Which one of us do you think--”

Grantaire cuffs him over the head. “You, Apollo,” he says. “Have you seen your tail?”

Enjolras raises himself up to his full height. “You would know,” he says, with all the grace he can manage. He goes to investigate Courfeyrac’s socks. There is a hole in one toe that has been bothering him since his friend kicked off his shoes.

Courfeyrac is still talking on the phone when he arrives at his feet. “Yeah, but what about turning them into kittens is conducive to-- _that_?” Courfeyrac shoots Enjolras a quick concerned look before covering his mouth a bit and whispering into the phone. “Are you sure we can’t just tell them?” he says. Enjolras can hear him, because Enjolras’ ears are sadly more than half the size of his head now.

“Is there any other way for the spell to wear off?” asks Combeferre.

Courfeyrac repeats the question. “Not till he gets back from his business trip,” he says, loudly, covering the phone. “In a week.”

Enjolras looks up from where he’d been about to pounce on Courfeyrac’s toes. “What?” he meows.  He’s somewhat getting used to not being able to properly speak, but it’s still weird.

“I’m guess that’s a ‘what’,” says Combeferre, helpfully. Enjolras shots him a quick, slightly pleased look and very possibly meows at him in agreement.

“That was odd,” he says to Grantaire, in hushed tones when the other comes to stand next to him.

“What was?”

“I didn’t say anything,” says Enjolras. “I mean, I made a noise, but I wasn’t trying to say anything.”

Grantaire tilts his head at him, and then meows. It sounds like a meow.

“That’s really odd,” Enjolras says after a moment. “Let’s never do that again.”

“Good plan,” says Grantaire. He yawns, and settles down into a ball at Enjolras’ paws. “I’m tired.”

“Me too,” Enjolras agrees. He considers flopping down next to him, but has a quick flash of waking up entirely too tangled up in Grantaire. He’s not sure why, but that makes his heart go tripping around his chest and he shakes his head. “I mean, no.” He yawns, as soon as he finishes, and ruins the sentiment by settling onto the floor next to Grantaire. It has been a pretty exhausting day. Morning.

“So,” Courfeyrac is saying. “I think the only solution is to um, match-make them.”

Enjolras blinks open a bleary eye at the two of them.

“Right,” says Combeferre. “Well, I’m not keeping them; you did this, you fix it.”

“Aw, come on,” says Courfeyrac, pointing over at Enjolras and Grantaire. Grantaire is already snoring, but Enjolras very quickly lowers his eyes in fake sleep. He likes Courfeyrac’s apartment well enough, but he shares it with Marius and while Enjolras likes Marius, he does not trust Marius’ ability to keep a secret. “Look how cute they are,” continues Courfeyrac.

Grantaire makes a snuffling noise in his sleep and his ears twitch. Enjolras has to admit that that is pretty cute. But he himself is not cute. Nothing about Enjolras is cute. Enjolras is--Enjolras is sleepy, and Courfeyrac is still talking.

“And come on, this is Enjolras’ home. I think it could be stressful to take him out of this environment.”

Combeferre has started walking towards Enjolras’ bedroom the entire conversation, and he disappears into the room before saying, “That would make sense if either of them were real cats. As neither of them are real cats--”

He emerges carrying a few of his sweatshirts; Enjolras licks his lips and swishes his tail.

“--your arguments are invalid” Combeferre hands Courfeyrac the clothes. “Stop by Grantaire’s on your way and grab some of his stuff, too, if you’re so worried about new smells.”

Courfeyrac slaps a palm to his chest, and the move makes Grantaire’s ears flick back quickly. Enjolras finds his lips pulling back in protest towards Courfeyrac before he can stop himself.

Courfeyrac doesn’t notice. “Fine,” he laments. “I shall take care of our resident furballs.”

“Good,” says Combeferre. “And don’t think you’re getting away with not going to a see a doctor about those scratches.”

Courfeyrac has reached Enjolras and Grantaire and leans down to gently stroke Grantaire. “Hey, R?” he says.

Enjolras sits up a little and curls his tail around his paws. He very pointedly doesn’t watch how Grantaire’s eyes blink open sleepily, and how he yawns, adorably. It’s creepy to find Grantaire-as-a-kitten cute, especially when he himself is a kitten. Especially if he doesn’t find Grantaire-as-a-human cute. Not that he’s ever had the opportunity to watch Grantaire go from sleeping to wakefulness before. Not the he _wants_ to.

Courfeyrac settles Grantaire on top of his shoulder and reaches down for Enjolras, who sighs, and lets him put him on the other shoulder.

“This is insulting,” he tells Grantaire, and Courfeyrac, even though Courfeyrac can only smile back at him.

“Somewhat,” says Grantaire. “But right now I’m more worried about the fact that all I want to do is attack that bird.”

“Bird?” says Enjolras, looking where Grantaire is. There is indeed a bird outside his living room window. And oh, it’s not that late after all. Enjolras doesn’t like how tired he is for how bright it is outside. But mostly, Enjolras would also like to go attack the bird. Never mind that the bird is outside the window.

“Um,” says Combeferre. “I’m pretty sure they make that noise when they’re stalking prey?”

Courfeyrac reaches up and unceremoniously bundles to two of them to his chest. “That sounds about right, yeah,” he says, clutching them. “How much do you want to watch them while I go grab a cat carrier?”

“Cat carrier,” protests Enjolras. His face is squished somewhere around Courfeyrac’s left nipple and he can hear his heartbeat going. Grantaire has a paw digging into Enjolras’ back.

“I don’t know,” Combeferre tries to say, but he is interrupted by the door.

“Combeferre? Courfeyrac? We got your message. Let us in?”

Courfeyrac pauses. “So maybe I texted most of our friends?” he says.

Enjolras digs his claws in until he is able to fight his head free and bites him, gently, on the nose.

“Definitely Enjolras,” mutters Combeferre. He goes to open the door and ends up smiling back at most of their friends. “Hi.”

Grantaire, who gets kicked somewhere in the process, manages to twist down onto the floor. “You’re the worst cat ever,” he says, but he’s doing that cat grinning thing again.

“Shut up,” says Enjolras, closing his eyes a little when Courfeyrac scratches him under his chin.

\--

Enjolras is sulking and Grantaire is exhausted. He’s taken residence in Jehan’s lap, since Jehan is generally safe--and because Bahorel kept forgetting about him and every time Grantaire got anywhere near to being asleep his friend would stand up and drop him.

Enjolras had retreated into his bedroom a few minutes ago, and Grantaire can just picture him, all too big orange ears and too fluffy fur, curled up into a ball of adorable rage. Apparently, there was only so many coos he could take before he got fed up with the baby talk and left to go attempt to regain his pride.

“I feel kind of bad,” Cosette is in the middle of saying when Grantaire tunes back into the conversation. Jehan moves one of his hands so that it settles right next Grantaire’s right ear, and he shifts his head so that the poet scratches him behind it.

“I don’t,” says Eponine.

“Yeah well,” says Cosette.

“No one’s surprised,” puts in Bahorel, laughing and dodging the punch Eponine throws his way. He’s somewhat sprawled across the couch with his head in Musichetta’s lap, and Grantaire would like to go rest on his chest but he doesn’t trust Bahorel. His chest is warm, however.

“Don’t do it, R,” whispers Jehan, leaning in close to his ear. Grantaire shoots him a quick thankful look, and continues purring. This garners him a small, “Aw,” from Cosette, who’s on Jehan’s left, and a sneeze from Marius.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Marius?” says Courfeyrac. He’s been sitting very carefully while Joly reapplies the Neosporin and bandages, but he turns his head to look at Marius. Marius looks miserable, so Grantaire gets to his feet to pad over the sea of bodies. He walks up Marius’ lap to stare down his nose at him, and pat him on the cheek once with his paw.

“I think you’re allergic,” he says, kindly. Collectively, about half the couch dissolves into cooing about the cuteness of his meow, while the other pretends they’re not thinking the same exact thing. Marius sneezes again, but manages a smile.

“I’m fine,” he says.

Grantaire taps him on the face again. “You’re not,” he says, petulantly, but before he can continue Cosette picks him up and pulls him back into her lap.

Grantaire likes Cosette’s lap; it’s warm, and smells faintly of flowers, and her nails are long enough that when she scratches down his back it feels simply divine. “He’ll be fine, R,” she whispers. “I’ll make him take some Claritin when we get home.”

Cosette, Grantaire decides, is a keeper. He turns to look at Marius for a moment, and tries to nod as sagely as possible. He gets a bit distracted, however, when Eponine leans over to press a kiss to the top of his head. “He’s adorable,” she says, again.

“Yes, I know,” says Grantaire. “You’ve said that.”

“Also tired,” points out Cosette. “Where is Feuilly with the cat carrier?”

“I don’t know why you all decided Feuilly would be the one to go buy one,” says Bahorel.

“To be fair, Bossuet went with him,” points out Musichetta. “I’d go, but--”

“Right, okay, you’re good,” says Joly, loudly. He puts the extra bandages and Neosporin back into the first aid kit and sits back down on the couch next to Musichetta, who nudges Bahorel up so that she can curl around Joly.

“Yay,” says Courfeyrac. “I feel no different than when Combeferre looked me over.”

Everyone makes a face at him, and even Grantaire manages something of a scowl.

“But thank you, Joly,” continues Courfeyrac.

“You’re welcome.”

Combeferre had pulled out a laptop sometime when everyone settled onto the couches, and he looks up from it now. “Are you all leaving, anytime soon?” he says.

Cosette finds a particularly nice spot on Grantaire’s back and he lets out a deep breath. “Enjolras?” he calls. “You should really come out here. Cosette has magic hands.”

“I do not want to hear about Cosette’s magic hands!” Enjolras calls back.

This time, no one on the couch tries to pretend that they don’t think he’s adorable.

“The mouth on him,” mutters Bahorel. “It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” says Eponine. “For someone who spends most of his time making important people shake in their boots, he is one adorable cat.”

“I’m not adorable,” grumbles Enjolras, from the doorway. “But I am tired” He does look exhausted, and Grantaire get up off of Cosette’s lap to walk over to him, nosing at him curiously and resisting the urge to lick him very, very, hard.

Enjolras lets him investigate with a sigh, before sinking down onto his haunches unhappily. “Can we go, now?” He shoots Courfeyrac a somewhat hopeful look, and Courfeyrac pulls out his phone before he finishes meowing.

“Feuilly?” he says. “Where are you? On your way back? ‘Kay.” He hangs up. “Five more minutes, buddy,” he says.

“Buddy?” repeats Eponine.

“What?” says Courfeyrac. “He’s fucking adorab--um.”

Grantaire has to hand it to him, because all Enjolras does is look down at himself and sink further onto the floor. “I am adorable, aren’t I,” he says, miserably.

“Well, yes,” says Grantaire, slowly. “But they think I’m adorable too.”

“Thanks, R,” says Enjolras. He still sounds unhappy, but he doesn’t sound insincere.

Grantaire’s entire stomach does a swooping thing. He pauses. “Huh,” he says to himself. “Weird.” He hadn’t thought that butterflies were a universal feeling. Most likely they’re not, and like the meowing thing, they’re some weird side effect of being a human turned into a cat.

The door swings open and Feuilly and Bossuet arrive, carrying a cat carrier. It’s generic, and Grantaire really doesn’t care, but Enjolras makes another dramatic noise and flops more soundly on the floor. “I don’t want to move,” he says.

Grantaire stares at him. “What is wrong with you,” he says, slightly concerned.

Enjolras rolls to look at him. “I am a cat,” he says. “And everyone thinks I am cute. I will never be taken seriously again.”

“Yes,” says Grantaire, slowly, cautiously. “But to be fair, no one in this room took you seriously in the first place? Except maybe Marius? Who is allergic to you, so will probably try to block this from his memory?”

“I hate you,” says Enjolras. He gets to his feet, though, so he can’t be too angry. “And everyone in this room takes me seriously.” He pads over to the carrier and gives it a quick sniff,

“Yes,” agrees Grantaire, sighing. “Myself included.”

“What?” says Enjolras, looking back over his shoulder.

Grantaire raises his voice. “Nothing,” he calls, fluffing up his tail and half prancing past Enjolras into the carrier.

Enjolras watches him go with a somewhat bemused expression his face, before following at a more sedate pace. “We’re not speaking of this ever again,” he says, again, when he’s settling down next to Grantaire and closing his eyes.

“Okay,” says Grantaire, softly, watching as Enjolras’ too big blue eyes fall shut and very pointedly not reaching out to lick him behind the head. He wants to, but that’s the kitten thoughts mixing with his human thoughts. Nothing more.

\--

When Enjolras wakes up, it’s to find that in his sleep he has gone from being curled up at the bottom of Courfeyrac’s bed to being curled up somewhere near his head. A quick glance shows that Grantaire has taken up residence to the other side of Courfeyrac’s pillow. He’s a surprisingly sprawled bundle of dark, chocolate fur, and his tail is covering Courfeyrac’s face. Every time their friend snores, it lifts in the air.

Enjolras watches, amused and gets up to nudge it off of Courfeyrac’s mouth. He’s not completely mad at his friend for sleeping with an apparent warlock and getting them transformed into kittens, but he is at present a kitten. And lack of intent aside, it is actually Courfeyrac’s fault. So he lick his lips, shakes a little, and crawls up onto Courfeyrac’s face to curl into a ball. He rests his chin on his front paws, to wait, and ends up falling asleep. To be fair, he is very tired.

Several minutes later, he wakes with his heart thudding in his chest when Courfeyrac reaches up with a guttural screech to take him in both hands and fling him across the room.

Enjolras goes screeching through the air to land on all four feet across the room. He’s pretty sure he’s shaking, and so it’s really not that hard to go scrambling under the bed so that he can shake in peace.

“Enjolras?” says Courfeyrac, tentatively. “Are you okay?”

Enjolras is still shaking, so he very pointedly does not respond. Not that Courfeyrac could understand him anyway.

“I’m sorry?” Courfeyrac continues. “Enjolras?”

Enjolras keeps ignoring him and concentrates on getting his heart to stop thumping its way out of his chest.

There’s a gentle thud, and then Grantaire is padding under the bed to stare at him. “Courfeyrac says he’s sorry,” he says. “Also, are you okay.”

“Fine,” says Enjolras. “Absolutely fine. Nothing is wrong at all.” He manages something of a purposeful full-bodied shake and gets to his feet to crawl out from under the bed.

Grantaire follows him slowly. “Uh huh,” he says.

Courfeyrac spots him on his way to the bathroom, and pets him awkwardly on the head. “Sorry,” he says. “Maybe don’t sleep on my face next time?”

Enjolras stares back at him, blankly, because it astounds him how very much Courfeyrac has missed the point.

“If looks could kill,” says Grantaire, mildly, passing by to follow Courfeyrac into the bathroom.

Enjolras ignores him in favor of heading for Courfeyrac’s shoes. They’re at the door to the apartment, and since Courfeyrac had flung them off before setting the cat carrier down on the floor last night. “Make yourself useful,” he snaps at Grantaire. “Make sure he doesn’t leave the bathroom till I say.”

Grantaire shoots him a look. “You want me to watch Courfeyrac shower,” he says, as the water goes on.

Enjolras stares back at him.

“Fine.”

When Courfeyrac emerges from the shower a few minutes later, freshly clean and singing, it’s find Enjolras curled up on a windowsill grooming himself, and his shoes sitting by the door faintly soaked.

“Oh you did not,” says Courfeyrac, and Enjolras looks up at him sweetly.

Grantaire wanders out from where he’d been making himself scarce in the bathroom, and Courfeyrac looks at him too.

“What did I do to deserve this?” he asks.

“You threw me across the room,” Enjolras meows at him, still saccharine sweet, and the same time Grantaire chimes in, “you fucked a wizard.”

Courfeyrac looks between Grantaire, Enjolras, and the shoes. He makes an almost sobbing noise and goes over to grab his phone.

“Hi, Combeferre?” he says. “I need you to do me a big favor.” He leans against his kitchen counter and sighs. “Yeah, I know.” He pauses. “Can you take Enjolras to class with you?”

Enjolras pauses in cleaning his right back leg to blink at him. He’d forgotten about class.

“Class,” he says, to himself, and then to Grantaire. “I forgot about class. _Fuck_.”

Grantaire watches he bemusedly. “The juxtaposition of you saying things like ‘fuck’ while being an adorable ball of fluff is hilarious.”

Enjolras ignores him in favor of eavesdropping on Courfeyrac’s phone conversation.

“It’s Lamarque,” Courfeyrac is saying. “He probably wouldn’t even notice. You could put him in your pocket.” He turns to look over at Enjolras.

Enjolras does his best to look unimpressed.

“So maybe not,” says Courfeyrac. “But he’s going to be pissed if he has to miss a week of lecture and your notes aren’t to his standards.”

There is a short pause.

“Right, so I’ll see you in a bit.” Courfeyrac hangs up his phone, and sighs. “You’re going to class with Combeferre, do you forgive me now?”

Enjolras gets up and comes to wind around his feet a few times, before leaping up onto the counter to butt heads against the bandages. “You realize I’m not actually a cat, yes?” he says to Courfeyrac.

“You’re so lucky we don’t have other friends,” says Courfeyrac. “Because I’m pretty sure normal cats don’t talk as much as you do.”

Enjolras raises his head in the most dignified way possible, and stares Courfeyrac down. “It’s only a week,” he says.

“Or less,” Grantaire puts in from somewhere below him. “Assuming we accomplish whatever it is the spell is.”

“Right,” agrees Enjolras. “What is the spell?” He keeps staring at Courfeyrac, as if that will help him.

Courfeyrac stares back at him with a half smile on his face. “I don’t suppose you knew those were my favorite shoes that you just ruined?” he says.

“No,” Enjolras lies. “Now tell me how to break the spell.”

He spends the next few minutes just staring at Courfeyrac, as the man makes coffee, puts on clothes, disposes of the shoes, and makes himself an egg for breakfast. Nothing. Enjolras emerges from the kitchen to join Grantaire in a patch of sunlight with no progress.

“I hate being a cat,” he tells Grantaire. “No one understands me.”

“I understand you,” points out Grantaire.

Enjolras nudges him one with his head. “Yeah,” he agrees. “But it’s not the same, you know?”

Grantaire looks for a second like he’s going to respond, but then the doorbell rings and Combeferre is making his way over to them, sighing.

“Lamarque might kill me,” he says. “So would you please get into my bag?”

Enjolras doesn’t think before nodding, and lets Combeferre pick him up and situate him in the bag.

“That is unfair,” says Courfeyrac. “You wound me, Enjolras.”

Combeferre rolls his eyes at him and pets Enjolras once behind the ear. “Can you blame him?” he says. “You got him turned into a kitten.”

“What he said,” says Enjolras, purring a little and rubbing against Combeferre’s hand.

Courfeyrac makes a mock affronted noise and moves to scoop Grantaire up. “At least R loves me, don’t you?”

Grantaire makes an odd half sigh noise and pats Courfeyrac awkwardly on cheek. “Somewhat,” he says. “Not a lot at the moment, but generally speaking, yes.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” says Combeferre. “We’ll just leave the two of you alone and go to class. Bye!”

He gives Enjolras a last scratch, before closing the bag.

\--

“So I’m only telling you this because once upon a time Eponine owed me a favor,” says Courfeyrac, once the door closes behind Enjolras and Combeferre. He hasn’t put Grantaire down, but he’s warm and cozy and not hugging him too hard, so Grantaire doesn’t care. “And once upon a time I used that favor to get her to tell me about the text she sent you that made you turn the color of a fire truck,” continues Courfeyrac.

Grantaire looks down at him and makes a considerable effort to look like he’s listening with his utmost attention.

He succeeds, because Courfeyrac keeps talking, walking them around the apartment in loose circles. “Anyway, she showed me the text, so you can’t pretend that you’re not in love with Enjolras,” he finishes.

Grantaire goes from resting his front paws against Courfeyrac’s chest to clawing viciously against Courfeyrac’s chest.

“Ow,” says Courfeyrac. “Watch me declaw you. _Both_ of you. You’re awful.”

Grantaire glares at him. It works much better now that he’s a cat. “What does my being in love with Enjolras have to do with anything?” he says.

Courfeyrac watches him for a long moment. “This is not going to work,” he says finally. “Hold on.”

He sets Grantaire down on the floor and vanishes into his bedroom, where he stumbles around and curses for a few minutes before emerging with some paint and paper.

“Please do not ruin my house,” mutters Courfeyrac, before opening one of the containers and squirting some paint out onto the paper. “But here.”

“I do not want to put my feet in that,” says Grantaire, with dignity. He knows that he should, because it will help him communicate with Courfeyrac, but he does not want to. It’s stupid, and probably driven by cat instincts that say don’t get your feet dirty, and at the moment, winning out.

“No, see, you’re still meowing at me,” says Courfeyrac. “And if you’re not going to try to talk to me properly I’m just going to follow you around and talk at you. About being in love with Enjolras.”

Grantaire scowls, which ends up being some sort of odd expression with his teeth showing and his nose going scrunched, and dips one paw into the paint. It takes a while, and several dips of paint, but he manages to painstakingly write out, _NO_ , in all capital letters.

Courfeyrac looks down at the paper, considering it. “No,” he reads.

Grantaire gives him his best deadpan look and swishes his tail. “Exactly,” he says.

Courfeyrac hums at him. “See I’d like to respect your wishes,” he says. “But you being in love with Enjolras is sort of important, seeing as that’s how you break the spell before Bastien gets back at the end of the week.”

“What?” says Grantaire, blankly. His ears press back against his head in his concern.

“The spell will break once you fall in love?” says Courfeyrac. He gives a bright, innocent-looking smile.

Grantaire watches him for another few seconds before getting to his feet. “I’m fucked,” he says, dramatically, and goes to go hide under Courfeyrac’s bed.

\--

Enjolras finds class to be surprisingly boring. There are too many odd sounds and odd noises and while generally speaking he finds Lamarque’s lectures to be interesting, he’d much rather go chase the squirrel just outside the classroom or play with the shoelaces of the boy two rows down.  He settles for lounging in Combeferre’s bag and playing with the rings on his spiral bound notebook, gnawing mindlessly and probably sulking. Possibly. Most likely not. Enjolras does not _sulk_.

Combeferre gives up on trying to get him to stop moving after the first few minutes of class, and settles for very slowly nudging the bag under his chair with his feet. Enjolras is sure to be as heavy as possible every time he feels Combeferre’s feet against the bag, because he is bored and it gives him something to do.

When the class finishes, Combeferre fishes the bag out from under his chair, gathers his books, and leaves fast enough to give Enjolras whiplash.

“You are impossible,” Combeferre mutters to him, darkly, on their way down a hallway.

“You’re not the who is a kitten,” says Enjolras, also quietly. “You have no idea how close I was to attacking that boy’s shoelaces.”

“I can’t understand you,” says Combeferre, pulling him out of the bag and setting him on one of his shoulders so he can put his books into it instead. “But I am going to assume that you are talking back. Meowing back.”

“I am still talking,” says Enjolras, with as much poise as he can manage while half-clinging to Combeferre’s collar.

“We’re never doing this again,” mutters Combeferre.

“Doing what?” says Eponine, and Enjolras flicks an ear towards her voice before turning his head to stare at her. “Oh, I didn’t know you had company.”

She detaches herself from the wall she’d been lounging against to come over and stroke Enjolras down the back.

“He was giving Courfeyrac hell,” says Combeferre, sounding a bit flustered. “It was no big deal.”

“You took a kitten to class,” says Eponine, sounding amused. “Pretty big deal, I think.”

Combeferre reaches up a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Enjolras is relatively certain he’s blushing.

“What?” he says to himself. “What is this?”

Eponine laughs. “Okay, okay,” she says, raising both of her hands. “You win; taking your best-friend-turned-kitten to class isn’t that ‘big of a deal.’” She makes air quotes, and smiles when Combeferre laughs.

“Well, when you put it that way,” he says, looking that Eponine fondly and starting walking again. “I need to get him home, before work, he says, in lieu of explanation when she raises an eyebrow.

“Hey, I can take him,” she says. “Save you the trip. Also, Courfeyrac called me earlier saying that a certain someone was missing another certain someone.”

Eponine makes a face and nods her head once towards Enjolras.

“Who missed me?” says Enjolras. “Did Grantaire miss me?” His tail smacks against Combeferre’s cheek a few times. “Why would Grantaire miss me?”

“Listen to you,” says Eponine. She reaches up to take him off of Combeferre’s shoulder.

“Thanks, ‘Ponine,” says Combeferre, sounding relieved.

“No problem,” says Eponine, smiling. She cradles Enjolras against her chest, and he cranes his head so that he can stare at Combeferre.

“You’re a lifesaver,” continues Combeferre. “I owe you.”

Eponine just smiles, and leans up on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his mouth. “Buy me dinner,” she says, before stepping around him back towards the building’s doors.

“What just happened?” says Enjolras, looking down up at her, and then back over her shoulder at Combeferre.

Eponine raises an eyebrow. “Oh you’re one to talk,” she says. “I’d hit you, if you weren’t a tiny, adorable kitten and also if I didn’t have proof that you are in fact that oblivious. Seriously a warlock who was trying to get into Courfeyrac’s pants noticed.”

“Noticed what?” snaps Enjolras, crossly.

“Oblivious,” repeats Eponine. “Also hopeless.”

She reaches her car, which she unlocks, and opens the passenger side. Enjolras settles into the seat and curls his tail around his feet. “Do you know how to break the spell?” he asks, redundantly and with little hope.

Eponine closes the door behind her and goes around to the driver’s side. “I swear to go when this is over you and Grantaire are going to owe me so many beers,” she says. “And yes, I will help you murder Courfeyrac.”

Enjolras purrs in agreement.

“I do have to say that he really liked the guy who got you into this,” she goes on to say as she buckles herself in. “They might have something.”

“He’s a wizard,” says Enjolras. “Also he turned me into a _kitten_.”

Eponine gives him an amused look. “Drama queen,” she says. “Drama kitten more like.”

Enjolras stares back at her, unblinking, and she looks away unnerved. That’s one nice thing about being a cat, he supposes.

“I can say it will be so nice to have you back and yelling at everyone,” mutters Eponine, starting the car and backing out of her parking space, “because the combination of the death stare and the meowing is making me dizzy.”

“Death stare,” says Enjolras. “I like that. It has a nice ring to it. He gives the person pulling into the space next to theirs the same glare, and the kid very quickly does a double take.

“I don’t know what you just said,” says Eponine. “But I know that whatever it was was not good and also likely to make me drop you at an animal shelter.”

Enjolras stares at her dubiously. “You wouldn’t dare,” he says.

Eponine meets his stare without blinking, and doesn’t say anything the entire ride back.

Enjolras spends the entire ride frantically mapping the route from Courfeyrac’s apartment to campus until they turn onto his street, and when Eponine goes to get him out of the car, she finds claw indents all in the leather.

“Dammit, Enjolras, she says.

“Eponine said she’d take me to a shelter!” Enjolras cries, and Grantaire come shooting out of Courfeyrac’s apartment to hiss at her.

“She said what!” he shouts, before he seems to realize that both Courfeyrac and Eponine are gaping at him. “I mean,” he says. “Did you have fun at class?”

Enjolras gives him a funny look, and butts his head up against Grantaire’s gently in response. “It was fine,” he says, slowly.

“Good,” says Grantaire. “Don’t hate me.”

“Hate you?” says Enjolras, making his way up to the door of the apartment. “Why would I hate you--”

There are paw prints all over Courfeyrac’s floor, and walls, and some of his couch, and also two on the kitchen counter.

“What happened?” asks Enjolras.

“Courfeyrac brought me paint,” says Grantaire, smugly. “And then left Marius in charge.”

“I see,” says Enjolras.

“Mhmm,” says Grantaire.

\--

Grantaire only remembers the rally the day before. He remembers with a shock, waking from a dead sleep on Courfeyrac’s chest to go nudge Enjolras awake.

“Hey,” he hisses. “Wake up.”

Enjolras blinks open one blue eye to stare at him. _Yes_? he seems to say.

“The rally’s in two days, right?”

Enjolras’ entire body goes taught and he wakes Courfeyrac by unceremoniously clawing him in the chest.

“Godammit, Enjolras!” shrieks Courfeyrac. “I am not sleeping in a sweatshirt no matter how hard you try to get me to!”

“The rally is in two days!” Enjolras meow shouts. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

Grantaire settles down to watch the ensuing fireworks with amusement. “You’re welcome,” he says. “It’s not like you haven’t been freaking out about this for months. You shouldn’t need a reminder.”

“I’m sorry,” says Enjolras, haughtily, “but I’ve been a little bit distracted by _turning into a kitten_.”

“Yeah,” says Grantaire. “And that’s why no one told you. You can’t go, you’re a kitten.”

Enjolras blinks at him.

Courfeyrac has stopped muttering to himself and has curled up under his blankets again. “Both of you stop talking and go to sleep,” he says, angrily.

Grantaire pads over to the bundle of blankets and worms his way under so that he’s pressed up against Courfeyrac’s back. “If he squishes me, you have permission to claw him,” he tells Enjolras, and goes to sleep before the other can voice any concerns or protests.

\--

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s to Courfeyrac opening the apartment door and setting a shopping back down on the floor. “I cannot believe you made me buy one of these,” he is telling Enjolras. “Next time we have a party we are totally having a séance and talking to ghosts, okay?”

Grantaire stretches in the bed and yawns. He twitches his ears a bit before leaping off the bed to go use the litterbox. He doesn’t know when Courfeyrac bought it, but he doesn’t care.

When he finishes and comes out of the bathroom, he finds Enjolras and Courfeyrac sitting across from each other in the middle of the floor. When he gets closer, he realizes that there is a Ouija board sitting between them. When he gets within a foot of them, he realizes that Enjolras is very carefully moving the board to different letters, spelling out, _Rally, Tomorrow,_ and, _I’m going_.

Courfeyrac takes notes of what he’s spelled, before shaking his head. “No you’re not,” he says. “You are a cat. You cannot go to a rally.”

Grantaire watches Enjolras’ tail go swing across the floor.

“Grantaire,” says Courfeyrac, spotting him. “Tell Enjolras he cannot go to the rally.”

“You can’t stop me,” says Enjolras, with narrow eyes.

“No,” says Grantaire. “But I can make sure you keep out of trouble.”

Enjolras doesn’t even look at him. “I’m not going to get into trouble,” he says, sulkily. “But I need to be there.”

“You can’t even give your speeches!” says Courfeyrac. “You are a cat.”

“Thank you for that Courfeyrac,” says Enjolras. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“No, don’t you dare look at me with those larger than normal eyes you fiend,” says Courfeyrac, pointing at Enjolras. “I will not fall for that, you are not coming.”

Grantaire comes around to rub his head along Courfeyrac’s knee in hopes of calming him, and Enjolras looks betrayed. He reaches out with one paw to tap the letter ‘o,’ then ‘h,’ and then ‘y,’ at which point Courfeyrac frowns.

“Oh yeah?” he asks. “I mean, yes, you are definitely not going, in fact I’ll call all our friends to make sure.”

Grantaire yawns. “If you’re going to do that, I’m going to go eat something,” he tells both of them. Enjolras doesn’t look away from Courfeyrac, but the man at least smiles at him.

He finishes eating well before Courfeyrac finishes calling friends, and jumps up on the kitchen counter to watch the staring contest going on on the floor.

“There,” says Courfeyrac, hanging up on Combeferre. “No one said you could go.”

“I think Bahorel said he could go,” Grantaire calls, as Enjolras points to a few letters on the board.

“Yes,” says Courfeyrac. “But Bahorel also wanted to use you as a weapon if the cops show.” He seems to consider that for a moment. “I mean to be fair, you are pretty deadly when flung at the face--I should know--but you are still not going. And that is final.” He gets up and picks up the ouija board as well. “Now if you excuse me, I need to go take a shower.”

“I’m going!” Enjolras calls after him.

“I cannot understand you!” shouts Courfeyrac.

Grantaire gets off the counter to go wash behind Enjolras’ ears. “You’re about to do something very stupid,” he says, to pretend that Enjolras is not allowing him to wash behind his ears or purring.

“You know me so well,” Enjolras replies. He inclines his head to give Grantaire a once over. “You look like you need a bath too.”

“I--what?” says Grantaire.

Enjolras just makes an odd chirping noise at him in the back of his throat and starts grooming the back of his head. “You have paint behind your ear,” he says softly. “I can taste it.”

“Oh,” says Grantaire. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Er,” says Grantaire. “No reason?”

Enjolras seems to concede that fact and continues grooming him in earnest. This means that Grantaire ends up getting pushed to the floor so that Enjolras can better reach parts of him, and that when Courfeyrac comes out of the shower he very quickly backtracks into another room to grab a camera.

“You’re going to kill me when you’re human,” he tells Grantaire. (Enjolras is pointedly ignoring him.) “But you do not understand how cute this is. This like that time you fell down some stairs and he was worse than Joly, only better because you are kittens.”

Grantaire would flip him off, if he had thumbs. “I miss having thumbs,” he laments to Enjolras.

“Hold still.”

\--

Enjolras is not talking to Grantaire, because Grantaire almost let him sleep through the rally. He was tired from spending all of the night before keeping watch on the clock as to not miss it, and the sun-spot by the window was very warm and very welcoming, and so he told Grantaire to wake him before Courfeyrac left.

Grantaire did not.

So Enjolras had broken out of the apartment through force of will and claws, only to find himself with an unfortunate shadow the entire way to the sight of the rally.

“To be fair,” Grantaire says, coming to stand next to him while Enjolras squints at road signs. “I never agreed to wake you.”

“It was implied,” says Enjolras. “This way.”

“Um, no,” says Grantaire. “That way.”

Enjolras goes very still for a moment. “Right,” he agrees, and starts off across the street.

“You’re going to get us killed,” says Grantaire. “And all for this stupid --”

“If you don’t want to come, then don’t,” interrupts Enjolras, hackles rising. “Okay?”

Grantaire looks wounded for a quick second, before composing himself. His luminous eyes go dark and angry. “Fine,” he snaps. “Don’t die.”

“You too,” Enjolras retorts, and storms off in a huff.

“Wrong way, Enjolras!” Grantaire calls after him.

He changes direction without looking at him. Screw Grantaire. He doesn’t need Grantaire. The rally is his baby, and Grantaire never really believed in any of the stuff, anyway. Besides, the rally isn’t that far of a walk.

He starts rethinking that a few minutes later, when he starts to realize that everything looks different as a cat. Everything is bigger, yes, but also smells competing for his attention and cars racing by at speeds that make every single one of his hairs stand on end. There’s also a slight chance that he might be lost.

“I’m lost,” Enjolras says, eventually, after the fourth similar looking sign. “I have no idea where I am.”

“Lucky for me,” says a voice.

Enjolras’ entire body goes tense, and he very slowly turns his head. “Oh hello,” he says faintly. “I’m not actually a cat, see.”

The dog staring back at him simply licks its lips. “What are you then?” it says. “A dog?”

“Not quite,” says Grantaire, landing in front of Enjolras. “Think, bigger and prone to starting revolutions.”

“Very funny,” Enjolras says. “I thought you went home?”

“And leave you to your own devices?” says Grantaire. He starts taking steps backwards. “Have you looked in a mirror?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” says Enjolras, inching backwards with him.

“You’re the most indoor cat I have ever seen,” says Grantaire. “And you have no sense of direction.”

“I do too,” says Enjolras, sourly.

“To be fair you had no sense of direction as a human, either,” Grantaire points out. “But as you are currently roaming the city in search of a protest that is about ten blocks from your house, I figured you needed a babysitter.”

“I do not need a babysitter,” argues Enjolras.

“Human?” says the dog. “Is that why you smell so funny?”

Enjolras blinks. “Yes,” he says. “Would you like to take a closer look?”

“What are you doing?” says Grantaire. “Enjolras.”

Enjolras ignores him and takes a few steps closer to the dog. “Go ahead,” he says.

“I swear to god, Enjolras,” says Grantaire, tail lashing back and forth in agitation. He seems torn between his fight or flight instincts and some sort of misguided sense of responsibility for Enjolras.

“I’ll be fine, Grantaire,” he says. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Owe you anything,” repeats. Grantaire. “What makes you think I owe you anything?”

“Well why else would you be here?” says Enjolras. He’s about two lengths from the dog now, and it just looks curious.

“Why else would I,” Grantaire says under his breath. “You.” He stops.

“Yes?” says Enjolras, he looks back over his shoulder at Grantaire.

“What are you doing, stop that!” shrieks Grantaire. “Don’t look away!”

Enjolras wonders if cats can roll their eyes. “I’ll be fine,” he says. He looks up at the dog curiously. “Do you have a name?”

“Does it have a name!” cries Grantaire. When Enjolras looks back at him again he can see that Grantaire has puffed himself to full size and looks so very torn between staying and fleeing. “Do not ask it if it has a name!”

Enjolras ignores him. “Don’t mind my friend,” he says.

Grantaire goes very quiet and possibly mutters, “friend,” under his breath a bit.

“What is your name?”

“None of your business,” says the dog, but it comes forward to sniff Enjolras anyway.

Grantaire makes an odd, strangled noise that is entirely feline and stalks forward a few steps.

“Huh,” says the dog. “You are a human.”

“I had said,” says Enjolras, mildly, and sits down to clean a paw. “Stop yowling, Grantaire, honestly.”

The dog wags its tail a few times at them, before heading back towards the yard it came from. “You are odd,” it says.

“Nice meeting you, too!” calls Enjolras. “I’ll have to come back when I’m a person to prove it,” he tells Grantaire. “I’d feel bad, otherwise.”

Grantaire comes skidding to a stop next to him and snaps at him. “You are the stupidest person I have ever had the misfortune of getting turned into a cat with,” he says. “You could have been killed.”

“Yes,” says Enjolras. “But I wasn’t. You weren’t either, by the way.” He gets to his feet and starts walking again. “Come on, we’ll miss the rally.”

“We’ve missed the rally,” snaps Grantaire. “Now would you stop?”

Enjolras looks back and him in a way he hopes looks put upon. “You’re being ridiculous,” he says. “I saved our lives.”

“You saved our lives,” repeats Grantaire shortly. “You _saved our lives_.” He hisses, and cuffs Enjolras across the head.

The move sends Enjolras reeling, and he yowls in protest.

“ _You saved our lives_?” continues Grantaire. “ _You could have been killed_!” He hits Enjolras on the head again, and then grabs him by the scruff of the neck and tugs.

“Hey, ow,” says Enjolras, going limp as a reflex and then shaking Grantaire off to glare at him. “Stop that.”

“Stop that!” cries Grantaire. “You are so lucky I’m in love with you, Enjolras, because otherwise I might kill you!”

Enjolras opens his mouth, and shuts it. “What?” he says.

Grantaire has stalked a few feet away, and refuses to meet his eyes. “You’re such an idiot,” he grumbles. “We’re going home now.”

“No, what did you say?” Enjolras tries again, heart thudding. “Grantaire?”

“I will kill you,” Grantaire replies, finally looking at him. His eyes look terrified, and that’s the only thing that stops Enjolras from pushing. “Now, come on.”

\--

When they get back to the apartment, they don’t have to break in because Courfeyrac and Combeferre are standing on the doorstep looking incredibly worried. Courfeyrac spots them first, and he goes racing down the steps to scoop Enjolras up into his arms.

“You idiot,” he says. “What is wrong with you?” He bends down to pick up Grantaire, too. “Both of you!” He hugs them a little and carries them back up the stairs.

“I bet Grantaire only went to keep Enjolras out of trouble,” says Combeferre, holding the door open.

Courfeyrac sets them down on the floor, and neither of them move.

“You’re quiet,” says Courfeyrac. “Did something happen?”

Enjolras stares back at him blankly, before retreating for the bedroom. It is very clear to Grantaire that he is not to follow. Combeferre has no such qualms, and goes after him instantly.

“Grantaire?” says Courfeyrac.

Grantaire makes a miserable noise and winds around his legs. “Pick me up?” he tries.

Courfeyrac obliges him and settles him across his chest. “You okay?”

Grantaire shakes his head, and decides to spend the rest of the evening letting Courfeyrac pet him while he works.

“The rally went well, at least?” Courfeyrac tries. He shoots Combeferre a very confused look when the other man emerges from the bedroom without Enjolras.

“Nothing drastic happened, and I think we reached a lot of people.”

“Enough to make Enjolras happy?” Grantaire asks.

His friends exchange a look, and Courfeyrac resumes the soothing petting. “You heading home?” he asks Combeferre.

Combeferre nods. “Let me know if anything happens? Or if your warlock friend shows up.”

“Got somewhere to be, Combeferre?” says Courfeyrac.

“Dinner, actually,” says Combeferre. “I promised Eponine a few days ago.”

Grantaire digs his claws into Courfeyrac’s legs in response. “Ow, R,” says Courfeyrac. “You’re going to shred me.”

Grantaire makes an apologetic noise and lets go. “Sorry.”

Courfeyrac rubs him behind the ears. “Have fun,” he tells Combeferre. “I’ll try to make sure they don’t kill each other.”

Grantaire groans, sadly, and settles his head more solidly onto his paws.

He must fall asleep, because the next thing he remembers is waking up for the walk to the bedroom.

“Shh,” says Courfeyrac. “You’re okay. Bed.”

Grantaire blearily opens his eyes enough to see the bed and the ball of orange-and-white fur that is Enjolras in the center of it.

“Hey,” Courfeyrac says. He puts Grantaire down on the mattress and nudges Enjolras. “Scoot over, you bed hog.”

Enjolras blinks open his eyes and uncurls to give Courfeyrac some room to settle.

Grantaire shifts on the bed so that he’s about as far from Enjolras as possible and refuse to move.

“Are you two fighting?” Courfeyrac whispers into the darkness. “Because you should stop.”

Grantaire cracks open an eye to look at him.

“It’s stupid to be fighting when you’re you guys,” continues Courfeyrac. “Especially with the whole--” He doesn’t finish, because Grantaire reaches out and puts a paw over his lips.

He laughs instead, and closes his own eyes to sleep.

Grantaire lays awake for a long while after that, before very briefly closing his eyes.

\--

As soon as Grantaire and Courfeyrac fall asleep, Enjolras opens his eyes. He’d actually fallen asleep when Combeferre left him in the room to brood, and so he’s not all that tired. He uncurls from his position at Courfeyrac’s side and lifts his head off of his paws to look over towards Grantaire.

Grantaire is nearly invisible in the dark, and only the low sound of his breathing and calming beat of his heart lets Enjolras know he’s there. Their hearts appear to be beating somewhat in sync, now that he focuses on it, which only serves to make Enjolras’ beat all the more faster.

He shakes his head. “This is stupid,” he says to himself, quietly. The meowing is less jarring, and he’s gotten enough of a handle on it that Courfeyrac just rolls over to better cuddle Grantaire into the bed. Enjolras watches the two of them with something odd and sweet marring his expression, before jumping down off of the bed.

“So Grantaire is in love with me,” he says, to himself, once he’s made about five circuits around Courfeyrac’s living room.

He pauses.

“That’s ridiculous--Grantaire isn’t in love with me. Grantaire doesn’t even like me.”

He has an entire friendship’s worth of evidence that says otherwise. For example, Grantaire can’t stop arguing with him. Grantaire spends good portions of his days arguing with him. Grantaire once started arguing with him and didn’t stop until he was paying their cab driver and herding Enjolras into his apartment, where he then cooked him dinner--still arguing--and made sure he was in bed at a reasonable hour.

“Oh,” says Enjolras, because probably that is the opposite of not liking. He has to sit down, curl his tail around his legs, and try very hard not to think. “That’s, um.”

His tail goes swishing across the floor and he lets it this time, since he is suddenly very busy thinking back over every single encounter he’s ever had with Grantaire. Which means, of course, that he ends up thinking about how they’d started waking up curled together now that they were cats, and how Grantaire’s ears taste. How he kept tripping Courfeyrac in the dark, and the ensuing battle to put a bell on him. The way he looks at Enjolras when he thinks Enjolras is staring at the birds outside the house. The way he looks at Enjolras period, in the little moments when Enjolras stops thinking and just observes.

There have been a lot of those moments, now that he thinks about it.

“Oh fuck,” he says quietly, tail halting in its movements. “I am so very _fucked_.”

He sits there for the next few hours, quietly stewing and inwardly panicking, before padding tiredly back into the bedroom to try to get some sleep.

\--

When Grantaire opens his is again, it’s because there is sunlight falling into them. He immediately goes to curl into a tighter ball, and frowns when that doesn’t help. It’s reflex to lift an arm to cover his eyes, and he’s not expecting much of anything when his body goes through the motions. His arm comes flopping over his eyes. He pauses.

 After a moment, he tries wiggling his toes, then the fingers in his left hand, before feeling his way across the mattress. He finds warm, bare skin, and when he opens his eyes it’s to see Enjolras, lying sprawled next to him with his hair everywhere and his mouth slightly open.

He’s also naked.

Grantaire is also, apparently, naked.

“Oh dear god,” says Grantaire. _Says Grantaire_. He has to reach up and stroke his fingers--fingers--across his vocal chords a few times while reciting the alphabet a few times before that sets in.

Enjolras appear to be waking, however, and Grantaire very quickly shuts up in time for the other man to yawn, stretch, blink open his eyes, and then roll over onto Grantaire. He curls up against him, still _incredibly naked_ , and noses at Grantaire’s collarbone. This would be fine, if they were still cats, but as they are no longer cats, Grantaire ends up making a wounded noise and trying in vain to extract his body from Enjolras’ with touching anything inappropriate.

“Where are you going?” mumbles Enjolras into his neck. He gets a hand free to curl around Grantaire’s shoulder and tilts his head to stare at him through hazy eyes.

He’s incredibly beautiful like this; it is not helping Grantaire in the slightest.

“Um, Enjolras?” he tries to say.

Enjolras blinks open his eyes and both of his hands come out to pin Grantaire more solidly to the bed. “Hang on,” he says. “I have hands.”

“Yes, I--”

“You have hands,” continues Enjolras, unconcerned with how he is now pressing Grantaire into the bed.

Every point of contact is making Grantaire’s skin feel like it’s on fire. _Enjolras is so very naked_. Grantaire thinks his brain might be leaking out of his ears.

“We’re--we’re not cats anymore,” Enjolras is saying. “The spell is broken.”

“I think it wore off?” says Grantaire, a bit desperately. “Because Courfeyrac told me it could only be broken if we fell in love, and as I explained to him, fat chance of that--”

“Hold on, what?” says Enjolras, leaning in very close to stare at Grantaire’s face. “The spell could be only be broken if we fell in love?”

“Or if Courfeyrac’s warlock friend undid it,” Grantaire says, frantic now. “Which is probably what happened, so if you wouldn’t mind getting off me--!” His voice breaks on the last syllable when Enjolras presses his hips down.

“You said you were in love with me,” says Enjolras. “And I must be in love with you, since the spell broke.”

“Wait, what?” says Grantaire, confused, panicked, and not at all clothed enough to handle this. He doesn’t finish, because Enjolras is kissing him.

Enjolras kisses like he’s conquering, licking into Grantaire’s mouth and letting his full body weight drop down onto Grantaire. He lets go of Grantaire’s wrists to bury fingers in his hair, and he uses his teeth. It’s biting, and bruising, and so very good that when it’s over Grantaire can do little more than gasp into the silence.

“What,” he says, and has to stop to lick his lips. “Could you run that by me again?”

Enjolras is smiling down at him. “I love you,” he says.

Grantaire’s heart thumps in his chest. “Oh,” he says, stupidly. “Um, okay?”

“Now that that’s clear, can I kiss you again?”

“Oh,” Grantaire says again. “If you, uh, insist--”

Enjolras’ smile goes a touch dirty, and he leans down to pick up where they left off, only to stop. “Grantaire,” he says softly.

“Yeah?”

“Where are your hands?”

Grantaire lifts both of his hands and waves them in the air. “Why?”

“Oh,” says Enjolras, faintly. “There’s one on my ass, is all.”

Grantaire lets that sink in for a quick second, before the two of them turn their heads very slowly to the right. Courfeyrac’s sleeping face greets them.

“Oh my,” says Grantaire, loud enough to wake Courfeyrac, which is when the screaming starts.

\--

Several frantic shouting matches later, Courfeyrac leaves the apartment with strict instructions to tell Bastien to never do that again and to not call him back, and Enjolras finds himself alone with Grantaire.

“So, um,” he says. “That happened?”

Grantaire snorts. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s never do that again, yeah?”

“Agreed,” says Enjolras. “All in favor of personally vetting all of Courfeyrac’s fuck buddies say ‘aye.’”

“Aye,” says Grantaire. “We need to drink to that. I don’t even care if it’s just water. I want to use my thumbs.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” says Enjolras, getting up to root through the fridge with him. They find a carton of orange juice and take turns sipping right out of it, because possibly they’re still a little angry at Courfeyrac, before retiring to go cuddle on the couch. “For the record,” Enjolras points out. “I am not cuddling.”

Grantaire doesn’t stop stroking his hair. “No,” he agrees. “You definitely aren’t cuddling. I’m not either.”

“Glad that we’re on the same page,” says Enjolras sighing. He tilts his head to the side a little. “There’s this spot, would you mind?”

Grantaire somehow manages to comb his fingers through the hair just behind his ear on the first try, and the noise Enjolras ends up making is probably obscene.

“I think it’s better as a human,” he mumbles. His eyes have fallen shut and his chest appears to be trying to still do the purring thing. It’s succeeding, too.

“You’re purring,” says Grantaire.

“I had noticed,” says Enjolras. “When do you think that will wear off?”

Grantaire combs his fingers in one downward swipe that has Enjolras’ mouth falling open.

“What are you doing?” he groans out. “I can’t-- _oh_ \--”

Grantaire stops. “I’m not sure if I want it to wear off,” he says, sounding far too pleased.

Enjolras narrows his eyes and reaches out with his own hands to find the spot high on Grantaire’s back that used to make him hiss and go limp. He scrapes his nails against it and Grantaire arches into to the touch. “I don’t think I do either,” says Enjolras, pressing a wet kiss to the whatever part of Grantaire that he can reach. “In fact--”

“All is well, guys!” says Courfeyrac as he walks into the apartment. “Bastien and I broke up--” He stops, closes his mouth, and grins. “Good morning,” he says.

Enjolras disentangles himself from Grantaire to glare at him. “Don’t say anything,” he says, shortly.

“Yeah, I know,” says Courfeyrac. “I’m on my best behavior, I promise. Combeferre can tell you--I got to the place, had a nice conversation with Bastien, and everything was fine.”

Enjolras looks him over. “Okay,” he says. “And he didn’t have any problems about separating?”

“Nope,” says Courfeyrac. “He was totally fine about it, even said something really inspiring about people not being afraid to flaunt relationships.”

Grantaire gets to his feet to come drape himself around Enjolras. When Enjolras reaches back to take his hand in his own, he startles, almost like he hadn’t been quite certain of his welcome, but he very quickly manages something of a smile.

“I wonder why he said that,” he says. “I don’t know anyone who would flaunt a relationship, do you?”

“Not at all,” says Enjolras, grinning.

“You two sicken me,” says Courfeyrac. “And I have video of you grooming each other as kittens. And sleeping. And also that time you decided to make a game of leaping onto my head.”

“Oh yeah,” says Grantaire. “Enjolras’ idea.”

Enjolras smirks. “You deserved it,” he says.

“And my shoes?” retorts Courfeyrac, but he’s smiling also.

“You need a new pair.”

“Very funny,” says Courfeyrac.

“I know,” says Enjolras. “Is Combeferre coming inside?”

“He should be, yeah,” says Courfeyrac. “I drew the short stick. Had to make sure you weren’t defiling all the flat surfaces.”

“Ah,” says Grantaire.

Enjolras flushes a little.

“I can let him know the coast is clear, actually,” says Courfeyrac. He heads back over to the door and pulls it open enough to stick his head out. “Hey, Combeferre, you can stop hiding your eyes--!”

Enjolras and Grantaire exchange a look, before coming to stand next to Courfeyrac. “What?” says Enjolras.

Courfeyrac just makes a noise of pain and opens the door wider.

Outside, next to Combeferre’s car, is a goat. A closer inspection reveals it is wearing glasses.

Enjolras opens the door, looks at the goat, and closes it. Opens the door, lets the goat look back at him, and closes it.

“Courfeyrac,” he says, faintly. “When you say a nice conversation, how nice was it really?”

“Um,” says Courfeyrac.

“Right,” says Enjolras. “Call me when you’ve fixed him.”

He takes Grantaire by the hand, and pulls him out of the house, stopping to awkwardly pat the goat that is Combeferre on the flank before bending to pick up the keys to his car. “Good luck,” he tells him, as he gets into the driver’s side and puts the key in the ignition. The goat that is Combeferre takes a few easy steps away from the car and turns to glare at Courfeyrac. It bleats once, and Enjolras has to try very hard not to laugh.

Grantaire gets in the car silently, but Enjolras is pretty sure he’s also holding back laughter. They pull away from Courfeyrac’s apartment very silently before Grantaire turns to him.

“So, vetting,” he says.

“Vetting,” Enjolras agrees.

\--

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/).


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